


With Golden Streams, Our Universe Was Brought to Light, That We May Fall in Love Every Time We Open Our Eyes

by Ourladyofresurrection



Series: Writers Month 2019 [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley and Aziraphale barreling down the Pacific Coastline, Crowley’s bebop, Day 4 of Writers Month 2019, Drabble, First Kiss, Fluff, Holding Hands, M/M, Our cute boys, Prompt: roadtrip, Sunsets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 04:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20129092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ourladyofresurrection/pseuds/Ourladyofresurrection
Summary: Day 4 of Writers Month 2019, prompt: road-tripListen to the song ‘Sun’ by Sleeping at Last while reading for best effect.





	With Golden Streams, Our Universe Was Brought to Light, That We May Fall in Love Every Time We Open Our Eyes

One time, long ago, the sun swallowed the world whole. Prehistoric creatures and endless untouched valleys would cower in its presence, slink away into the deepest recesses of the night for they were not worthy of power it bestowed.  Even today, through years of humans growing bolder and more audacious and self-righteous, the sun continued to be the zenith of everything in this Universe.  The sun was a silently proud creature that didn’t so much as talk but let others talk around it and come to revelations themselves.

Indeed, the sun remained a powerful, reverent thing, and as it encroached on the rolling hills ahead, there remain no doubt of this in Aziraphale and Crowley’s mind.

Just as tightly as the day gripped the world, Aziraphale’s finger-pads branded indents into the leather of the Bentley.

“Crowley!” he admonished, “Do slow down!” 

“Oh, just sit back and enjoy the ride, Angel,” he rolled his eyes, barreling down the narrow roads of the Pacific Coastline at 100 mph, narrowly avoiding a squirrel.

Aziraphale looked a little white in the face as he gulped and said, “I will not! You’re going to drive us _straight_ off the road and get us killed—“

Crowley glanced at him.

“—inconveniently discorporated,” he finished petulantly.

“It’ll be worth it when we get there, Angel, now just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

“If I put your silly bebop on, maybe you’ll calm down and drive slower.”

Crowley accelerated, just to irk the pale angel beside him, “Go ahead then, but it’s not bebop.”

Aziraphale sighed, popping the disc in the slot, which, lucky for Crowley— hadn’t been in the car longer than a fortnight, he’d made sure of it. Take away his Chopin or Tchaikovsky, but never touch his Velvet Underground.

Of course, of _course_,  of all the songs that could possibly have played at that moment, 'Pale Blue Eyes' had to come over the speakers.

_ Sometimes I feel so happy, _

_ Sometimes I feel so sad, _

_ Sometimes I feel so happy, _

_ But mostly you just make me mad. _

_ Baby, you just make me mad. _

_ Linger on your pale blue eyes, _

_ Linger on your pale blue eyes. _

Crowley practically jumped across the console, swerving dangerously close to the guardrail as Aziraphale screamed, the offending song coming to a treacherous halt.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale all but screamed at him, “what is wrong with you?!”

“Er— you wouldn’t like that song,” Crowley waved his hand nonchalantly, heavily steering back on track, but his gritted teeth gave away his calm demeanor. 

Aziraphale sighed, picking up a two-week-old classical music CD, “I don’t suppose you want to listen to Tchaikovsky’s ‘Another One Bites the Dust?’

* * *

They stopped just as the Sun started making its way towards the middle of the sky for dinner at a quaint little Mexican place along Santa Monica, much to Aziraphale’s delight.

“Oh, heavens, that was _delicious_ _,_” he bubbled, patting his mouth on a cloth napkin, “what a beautiful town, Crowley. It’s like a little dollhouse.”

Crowley smiled up at Aziraphale, hair tied back in a man-bun, glasses slipping down his nose, and dress shirt slipping down his forearms where it was cuffed.

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself, Angel.”

Aziraphale smiled up at him like he hung the moon and stars, eyes glittering and face seeming to pull towards Crowley’s like it had its own gravitational pull, the demon’s heart thudding loudly in his ears.

Aziraphale looked down at his lips, gaze flicking back up to his wide eyes, shifting closer. Crowley closed his eyes, and then—

“Dessert, gentlemen?” the server asked, the two divine entities jumping away from each other, startled.

Aziraphale smoothed down his jacket, smiling nervously at Crowley, “Well, why not?”

* * *

In a race to get to their hotel before the Sun set, Crowley screeched the Bentley to a halt on a narrow side road, unbuckling his seat belt and switching off the car.

“Where are you going?” Aziraphale questioned, sounding a little drowsy.

“Come on, Angel, trust me, you’ll wanna see this.”

Against his better judgment, Aziraphale followed the demon out of the car, leaning against the front of it. In front of them lay hundreds of unbelievably picturesque hilltops and valley’s, melting like an oil painting as the sun lazily made its way toward the horizon.

“O-oh my,” he breathed, “good Lord, it...it’s beautiful.”

“Isn’t it?” Crowley said.

Aziraphale looked downright ethereal in the golden rays of the Sun—even more so than usual, and Crowley felt something flutter in his heart as he tentatively reached for Aziraphale’s hand and gently turned his face towards his own.

He could feel the Angel’s soft, sweet breath fanning over his face, his eyes dipping down to the hollow of his throat and then back up at his eyes.

_“Angel,_” he breathed reverently, previous words intended lost as he gazed down at his face, felt his soft cheek beneath his hand.

He didn’t really know who leaned in first, and it would still be a frequent matter of affectionate debate years down the road, but before he could register much of anything, he felt his lips pressed up against Aziraphale’s own.

The kiss was chaste, sweet, as you would expect from an angel, and one might have used this as proof that Aziraphale had kissed Crowley first.  Crowley’s eyes fluttered open not long after he came to, watching Aziraphale stroke the side of his face and leaning into his touch.  Their noses bumped together and his angel pulled away with a soft sound, taking his sunglasses off the bridge of his nose.

“Take these off,” he murmured affectionately, “wily old serpent.”

As soon as the sunglasses were placed down, Crowley surged forward, palms spanning the sides of Aziraphale’s face as he kisses him once, twice, “Run away with me,” he breathed.

Aziraphale chased his lips, eyelashes flush against his pink cheek, short, persistent kisses trailing along his mouth.

“We can live here,” Crowley murmured shakily, between assault of the angel’s lips, “one day.”

The angel pulled away for a moment, gazing into his eyes, hand wrapped tightly around the demon’s. He looked up at his blown-out pupils and smiled, leaning back in.

_“Aziraphale?”_ Crowley shuddered.

“That sounds lovely, dear.”

And there, beneath the setting sun, with the whole world before them, an angel and a demon kiss, with spoken promises in the air, and many more to have yet been said, dormant in the backs of their throats, just waiting for the moment to come. 

**Author's Note:**

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